


Cotton-Candy Bubblegum

by ElfyDwarf



Series: Gallavich Prompts & One Shots [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Smoking, Swearing, cross dressing, dragqueen!Ian, provocative dancing, sexual dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfyDwarf/pseuds/ElfyDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Mickey is a bartender who lets his mouth run a lot, always seems to have something to say, and one night his manager books a drag act. Upon bitching about the gayness of it, Mickey is struck speechless when he see Miss Bubbles in her racy white corset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cotton-Candy Bubblegum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renmiriffx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renmiriffx/gifts).



> I was given a prompt, and i fell in love with it, what can i say?! Enjoy!!

 

 

“Mickey! You're stationed in the middle tonight, running the ship. Keep the swearing to a minimum, _please_ ,” Dwight, the owner and manager of _Daiquiri_ , said as he levelled his top barman a very pointed stare. It was not common knowledge that Mickey was a blabber mouth, not at all, but when he felt comfortable behind his bar after a few hours of serving drinks and listening to mundane chat-chat, Mickey's brain to mouth filter seemed to short-circuit and out poured South Side. Mickey usually managed to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself but sometimes, just a few select times, he simple couldn't; he needed the facial version of a chastity belt for his mouth.

“Boss,” Mickey stood with his hands folded at his navel, fingers toying with his uniform for the night. Gone were his usual blacks slacks and shirt as tonight was a gig night and they were required to up the anti, donning black dress trousers, a tight fitted white shirt, navy cummerbund and matching bow-tie. Mickey hated these nights, he felt like a total fool but he couldn't complain too much whenever he caught a glimpse in the mirrored wall on the far side of the bar room; he looked a sight for sore eyes indeed. He liked that at least. What he loathed the most were the stupid white gloves and the added difficulty level they brought with them – handling full glasses and bottles was tricky enough in a packed bar but with satin gloves? He hated Dwight and his pretentious attitude on these nights.

Two hours into his shift and Mickey was swearing up a storm as he thundered through the kitchen – it wasn't a working serves-food-all-day kind of kitchen, more of a stuffed-to-the-rafters with wine bottles, beer kegs, bar snacks and so many glasses you would panic if a heavy lorry went by outside – and out into the alley for a quick smoke break. He had been serving the heavily filled bar area and some woman in her late forties had leaned right over and, in her drunken state – it wasn't even seven yet, fuck lady - had swatted at Mickey's ass as he'd bent over to fish out a bottle of chilled cider. She's clipped him with her nails, sent him leaping into one of his staff who then dropped a tray of Martinis down Mickey's front and, as he'd spun to avoid the glasses hitting him in the teeth, drunk lady had wobbled and knocked over Mickey's order and sent a thick, rum-spiked coconut milkshake and a cosmopolitan down his legs. Mickey had stood there all of two seething seconds before Dwight had appeared and ushered him away, not a word uttered.

“Fucking idiot, drunken, barking up the wrong fucking tree, too much money having bitch,” Mickey growled as he sucked on his cigarette and regarded the clean and silent alley. His uniform was a state and he stunk of booze and sickly sweet mingled mixers and cream. He prayed to God that Dwight had thought to load up the washing machines and there was a spare, or Mickey was going to have to go home and make do with barely a shift of pay. Angrily finishing his smoke, Mickey turned heel and shot back into the kitchen/cellar and moved through the very back where the staff room was, yanking open the cupboard that held newly wrapped uniforms and old suits. There was a spare black cummerbund and bow-tie, a fresh set of dress pants still wrapped and no doubt going to feel like pins and needles against his legs.

“Mickey? You out here?” Dwight yelled, his heavy steps moving in the direction of the staff room. “Ah Jesus _fucking_ Christ. The state of you. Looks like someone dumped a bucket down your front and puked all over your damn legs.”

“Telling me!” Mickey groaned, looking at himself now he was in bright lighting; he was a total mess.

“There's a shirt in your size on the top. I don't care if you gotta wear black, just clean up and get back out. The act for the night have just put their set up and it's about to get real busy,” Dwight smiled like he was hiding something and turned his tall-ass black self out of the room. Mickey simply cursed some more and set to dress himself, peeling off the sodden mess that used to be his uniform, wiping down with wet wipes and a towel before dressing. The shirt did fit, but it was tighter and navy blue, almost glittery and Mickey rolled his eyes so hard he swore he saw the back of his sockets. He cleaned his shoes the best he could and sprayed so much body spray in them that he began choking on the cloud in the room.

“What the fuck is this?” Mickey called out as he stepped back into his bar and stared in shock at the stage. The thing ran around the main room in front of the bar, from one wall to the other with a small catwalk in the middle; it was huge. The whole room was low-lit and decked out in all kinds of glitzy things, from chandeliers to statues with plants growing out of their necks. Dwight really was a pretentious dick and it showed in his establishment.

“Drag act. It's meant to be some kind of comedy slash raunchy thing,” supplied one of the barmen, Charlie, as he wiped down some of the taps, eyeing Mickey's new get-up. “Looking sharp, captain.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey grinned, moving back into the fray and immediately refusing to serve drunk lady in all her faux fur and pearled glory. Charlie could have her and those sneaky hands of hers. The was a further dimming of the lights and Mickey had to to hit the bar switches to keep his area ambient enough to see what they were doing, ignoring the movement on stage as he flipped glasses and poured out cocktails.

“Good evening darlings!” a low and deep drawl sounded over the mic, clearly a guy trying to go for a sultry older woman tone, and it worked, slightly.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey shook his head and took the bills, heading to his till.

“I am Lady Lorna, and I would like to introduce to you, my Queens for this evening. For your pleasure, feast your delicate eyes and ready your fine selves for a night of joyous, flirtatious fun,” Lady Lorna purred, waving her arm out to introduce all of her crew, the lot sauntering out onto the stage to an uproar of cheer and whistles. Mickey barely looked, focused on making more cocktails, though he glanced up once or twice and frowned. He could see the guys dressed in drag, he could see guys dressed up to be male counterparts in booty shorts and single collars, he could see a girl or two dressed up to look like drag queens. A real mix tonight.

“Fuck. This has got to be the gayest thing I have ever seen,” Mickey breathed as he passed around the back of Charlie. The lad snorted and looked at Mickey, head to toe eyeing. “If you so much as _breathe_ a word about my outfit or the fact that I am probably the gayest thing behind the bar aside from Dwight's fucking pink feather fan and his stupid fucking flamingo, I will knock your teeth out of your head. We clear, Charlie boy?”

“Boss,” Charlie laughed, winking at him as he took bills and set out shot glasses. Too many loud songs played and too many overzealous queens danced around, lip syncing, for Mickey to tolerate. The fact that the bar was crowded beyond anything he'd encountered yet meant that Mickey was going to be tipped heavily if he kept up and kept the fake smile in place, so he could bare it. Just about. He nearly lost his shit when Ding Ding Dong started blaring, and much as he swore and cursed and bitched to himself, the crowd _loved_ it. Jesus, it couldn't get any gayer, surely?

“Time are they booked until?” Mickey asked Dwight when he appeared an hour later, grinning and sashaying through the bar like he was trying to salsa. He took Mickey's hands and checked his gloves for stains and, finding barely any, let go to twirl around Mickey to get passed.

“Until ten, Mickey. Can you take the heat, oh can you? Can you take it baby?” Dwight grinned, dancing away and leaving his bar manager pushing out the heaviest, most trying sigh he had ever sighed. As he turned to see if anyone needed a drink, he found none, so he set himself the task of wiping down the marbled bar top, and if he looked at the stage with curiosity, then it was too dark for any fucker to comment on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been most accommodating and more than generous with your love, oh my!” Lady Lorna giggled, the giant black wig jostling around her broad shoulders. Mickey couldn't fault the make-up though – it was done better than most of the women in the bar. If it wasn't for the voice and the flat chest, Mickey might believe in the fakery. “Please, oh _please_ , welcome my darling, my sweet, sweet angel, Cotton-Candy Bubblegum! She has a wonderful little set for you right now, and starting with a Moulin Rouge number we all know! Oh Bubbles? Where your girls at?” Lorna sing-songed and the room went mental again, deafeningly loud, so loud in fact, that Mickey worried for the glasses in the back.

“Fucking hell, it's just men in dresses...” Mickey was about to bitch as much as he possibly could to Charlie but, as three queens wandered onto stage dressed in very flirty outfits of overly frilly shorts, stockings and corsets, Mickey's mouth stopped working. Jesus Christ. Talk about saving the prettiest boys for a show-stopper. _Were_ they boys?

“Just guys in dresses, huh?” Charlie wondered, nudging a stupefied Mickey in the ribs. “I'm not into guys but a fair handful of these ones are making me seriously doubt myself. I can't tell guy from girl at all now, shit.”

Mickey gave the barest of stunned head movements as Lady Marmalade began playing and the lights dimmed, a spotlight on a queen, or chick, dressed in a black and red lacy thing with a huge puffy skirt, strutting down the catwalk towards Mickey with dirty smile under their cap. Mickey knew the video and pegged this one as 'Mya'. Mya was a mover, dropping and swaying smoothly.

“Two Martinis, please?” asked a tall guy with a woman on his arm who was breaking her neck to keep watch, handing over the bills as Mickey set to making the drinks, barely able to keep his eyes down as another queen took over and sauntered down the stage in various shades of blue, tight shorts and stockings and a stuffed corset, feathers sticking out of the huge red wig. Going by the video, this was 'Pink', and Pink was giving it her all, touching her bulging pantie-shorts, flicking her hips, shaking the lose belt to get the bling catching the light.

“Two Martinis, Sir,” Mickey pushed the drinks across the bar and smiled, now able to watch from where he absently cleaned around the taps and ice tray. Out of the darkened side area came 'Lil Kim' in her red laced to hell outfit; this one was definitely a guy. Kim moved like a ghetto queen, twerking it against the pole that had been set up, slut-dropping her ass, rolling against the floor like some Magic Mike show. The skirt was loose and spun as she did, the fishnets and giant heels only making her tower further. For all her imposing height and build, Mickey found his mouth watering. He had never seen drag queens like this in his life and was starting reconsider his thoughts on them. Jesus. Kim pulled out a huge feathered fan and gently swayed, sync-rapping along, shaking her 'boobs' when required and moving fists around.

“Here she comes!” Lorna piped over the booming music as the lights dropped and the girls scattered to the back, opening up a curtain as 'Christina' – _Bubblegum princess_ \- strutted out, moving her longs legs in down the catwalk, twirling a riding crop and herself until she got to the end and dropped, flashing her knees open at the guys to the right of the stage, bouncing her ass before getting up and rolling it in a slow a sultry manner before taking off to a chair that had been placed. Mickey's mouth was dry and he was so absorbed in the sexual vision of this chick, and it was a chick, there was _no way_ that was a guy, that he wasn't hearing an order being asked. Charlie caught it and shook his head at Mickey though he barely saw him.

This was Bubbles? What a madam. She had on a white corset with the cups cut out, a diamanté encrusted pink bra and so many variations of the colour pink in the frills on the shorts she had on that Mickey felt a little dizzy as they bounced and flew as she rolled her hips. Bubbles straddled the chair and pushed her long legs out, showing off the giant strappy fuchsia heels, then she was up and flickering up her ass as the other girls came back on to complete the set. Mickey could appreciate the female body as much as any man, and this one had him caught, but his dick wasn't interested. Damn, she was something else. Mandy might like this one.

Bubbles moved to the catwalk again and turned as she got to the end, her long white gloves catching the light as she lifted a finger to her cherry lips and winked, wiggling her bum, making the bow of the corset shake and Mickey's eyes follow the thick black seam of her stockings from her heels to where they stopped just under the glimpse of her ass cheeks. Mickey looked up to see her flashing her flash eyelashes at him, smoky eyes naughty and she grinned cheekily, chewing on fucking _bubblegum_. He smiled back, couldn't not, and kicked himself; not fair to lead the girl on, even _if_ he was. He was shitty at flirting with a guy, let alone a girl who he was definitely not going to do anything with. Maybe in the past, but now, he was most _definitely_ not wired that way.

“Is that a queen, as in a guy queen?” Charlie asked as they reset the stage and Bubbles came back on, mouthing the words to Gay Bar while appearing to find everything she could that resembled a cock, making everyone laugh and cheer. She was stunning now she had her hat off, her bobbed wig tapering to the choker of lace veeing down into the swell of her breasts. Her suspenders were pink too, sparkling and drawing the eye to her hips and pale thighs. The crotch was flat as far as Mickey could tell with all the damn frills and her hip rolls, hip flicks and thrusts were too smooth to be a guy.

“Nah, that's a girl.”

Charlie frowned, “Not so sure man.”

“How can _you_ not be sure of that? OK, so the sugar-plum, pink candy-floss fucking wig is a little bit of a curveball but the way she moves, the soft looks, the curves, the fucking pout on her....s'a chick, Charlie,” Mickey argued, cleaning up glasses. Charlie didn't seem convinced though as he dogged Mickey and wiped up.

“Corsets are designed to curve whatever body they are on, man. So the legs are amazing, but they are too toned, same goes for the arm-”

“Ever heard of a gym?”

“ _OK_ ,” Charlie laughed, “The jaw is too sharp.”

“Some women have strong jaws, man. Stop that.”

Charlie eyed Mickey, “Why are you defending her honour? You gonna fuck her, flame boy?”

Mickey loaded the little dishwasher under the bar, “Call me that again and I'll de-ball you. No, I'm not going to fuck her, but I'd like to talk to her. The girl looks like fun and Mandy might like her, you know, muff-diver she is.”

“Ew. No, don't say shit like that,” Charlie moaned and Mickey bit his tongue. “OK, so you're playing match-maker. But, dude, I'm telling you that girl is a fucking _guy_. I will wager ten dollars.”

Never one to pass on a bet that he would win, Mickey stuck his hand out, “Ten dollars that's a guy. Twenty it's a girl.”

“Deal.” If Bubbles was a guy, and Mickey was sure she was a _she_ as he watched her giggle and run a baton through her circled fingers with a flirty wink, then... well. He would have to do some serious soul searching because damn would he bend over for that vision. But that was a girl and strap-ons did nothing for him. 'Mya', however, well – Mickey watched the queen in the sidelines, wondering if his uniform would catch _that_ guys eye.

 

–

 

Another hour and the show was winding down, though it had gotten far more racy – Bubbles was doing Mickey's head in. He was seriously doubting his earlier statement and Charlie, the smug bastard, seemed to fucking well know it. Bubbles was on stage again, had been a few times with other queens, and nothing really gave away if she was a girl or a guy, nothing. Certain movements made Mickey reconsider, and then others had him winking at Charlie with his hand out ready for the winnings.

“And for our last show for this glorious, wonderful evening, Bubblegum is going to make a statement. Oh, honey? Come and play with us!” Lorna chirped, bowing to the guys and girls around the catwalk, “I suggest you darlings back up a little. This is our splash zone.”

“Fucking splash zone?!” Mickey hissed to Dwight as he passed. He was in line for getting soaked again? Jesus.

“Just a bit of water, Mickey. Don't worry, we've got absorbent foam down,” his boss winked, leaving Mickey gawking and tiptoeing to look over the bar. Asshole. It didn't stop _him_ from getting soaked through, now did it?

Bubbles and few of her dancers came out in trench coats, eyes masks in place with little sailor hats pinned to their wigs, dancing over enthusiastically to Wet by Nicole Scherzinger. Great, so he was going to be soaked before anything really got going. Or maybe not, this was all for laughs and hype, Mickey could tell that much as he dished out a few daiquiris and appletinis. It was only when the music dropped and the other girls left that Mickey realised that it was about to get real spicy in front of him – there was a chair again at the end of the catwalk, a chain hanging from the darkness above and Bubbles positioning herself centre stage.

Mickey knew the song as soon as it started – damn Mandy and her Iglesias fan-girling – this one was Tonight, I'm Fucking You. And Bubbles was looking straight at Mickey as she mouthed along, false ecstasy as she moved, touching _everywhere_ , biting her bright pink lipstick coated mouth, batting those smoky eyes and when the chorus kicked in, she hauled the coat open and Mickey grinned. Mandy was going to fucking eat her alive. She had on yellow wellington boots with heels, navy tights and a puffy red skirt that revealed her ass but covered her groin, her belly bare but adorned with straps of fake diamonds and a bra that had a lacy bottom that went down a few ribs like a mini corset, red with a white anchor in the middle of her breasts, a similar sized one hanging from the choker. Hey, sailor indeed. Mickey noticed, as she turned with slow hip swings, that she had a huge ass tattoo over her ribs on the right side but the lace of the bra covered most of it. Badass. Mandy was going to piss herself.

Bubbles wiggled her way to the end of the catwalk and touched her chest, touched her crotch with a flirty giggle and a fake gasp, pushed her bum out and twirled to sit on the chair, dancing all over it like it was a human being or a dildo or what-the-fuck-ever it was she was seeing. Mickey's eyebrows shot up a bit.

 _You're so damn pretty, If I had a type then baby it would be you_ – Bubbles mouthed this at Mickey, there was no denying that, and he licked his lips nervously. Oh Jesus. The rapping came in and 'Lil Kim' came back out to take over as Bubbles simply danced, flirting with patrons before sitting on the chair with her legs spread, side-on to Mickey as the chorus filtered back in.

 _Tonight I'm fucking you_ – Bubbles yanked the chain and dumped a bucket load of water over herself, flicking her head back under the deluge, the force of it tearing the wig off. Mickey stared and gaped and felt his trousers go so fucking _tight_ he thought he was going to faint from the rush of blood south. They were also a little damp from some splash, and his shirt, but he really did not give a single fuck.

“You owe me ten bucks,” Charlie noted as Mickey found himself speechless. Bubbles was fucking beautiful now Mickey could see his jaw and the line of his neck, his entire body transforming from something feminine to something else altogether now Mickey's brain saw him for the Adonis he was under all of that dress and make-up. The soaking wet redhead merely grinned as he continued to dance, the crowd going mad now he'd revealed himself, his smoky eyes finding Mickey's stunned ones every now and then. The choker should have given Mickey more of a this-is-a-guy vibe; perfect cover for an Apple.

“Holy shit, I need to fuck him,” Mickey whispered, shocked into just staring dumbly as this guy threw himself around some more, staring at Mickey as much as he could without ignoring his crowd, kicking his legs out, thrusting, grinding, touching from his throat to his groin with an open mouth. Jesus Mickey was boiling and tugged on his bow-tie a little, watching transfixed until the music stopped and Bubbles giggled, skipping away and Lorna came back out to congratulate her girls, and boys, say thank you's and gush about everything. The band for the night set up quickly and started playing jazz music, sending all of the patrons into chatter and slow dancing, heading for the bar for re-fills and buzzing about drag queens. Mickey hadn't moved.

“And that, as they say, is that. Go for a smoke, Mickey, I got you for five,” Dwight drawled over his shoulder and Mickey needn't be told twice, he was out of the bar in a snap and running for the back door. The stage door was at the other end of the alley and Mickey begged, _begged_ , the powers that Be that Bubbles was a smoker.

 

“...think you caught his attention? Pah! Of course you did, honey, he was stiff and gaping like a fish,” gushed a very camp sounding voice from the other end of the alley and Mickey ducked, hiding behind the dumpster to listen.

“Yeah, well, that might have been simple shock. You know, he was all smiley and cute looking before the wig came off? You _know_ a lot of guys think I'm a fucking girl with this gig, so many of them get a shock and it never turns out the way I hope either,” judging from the heavy sigh and the chatter, Mickey's brain told him the deep, slow and suave voice belonged to the cotton-candy vision, Bubbles.

“Babe, oh don't look so put out. So he might be straight, still, you got his attention and I don't think I've ever seen someone look so stunned _in my life_. There's that,” hummed the other voice, drawing in their words like they were smoking. “Look, if he is, his fucking loss because da- _yum_... Going back in, baby pink. I'll get your bag ready so you can change quickly and get home, eh? Such a darling boy.” There was the sound of giggling, a chuckle and a wet kiss and then banging heels.

Mickey took a second longer to light his cigarette, and if he rolled the flint a few more times than necessary to get someone's attention, then fucking sue him. “Goddamnit! Fuckin' thing!” he bitched loud, too loud really, and ducked out from behind the dumpster to see the redhead guy leaning against the wall at the far end, smirking.

“Havin' troubles there?”

Mickey flicked up an eyebrow and fully revealed himself, enjoying the intake of breath when Bubbles realised who he was, “Yeah. Lighter's fucked.”

Bubbles considered Mickey for a moment, looking at him from under smoky lids, running his thumb along those bright pink lips in thought. “C'mere then. I got one,” he said, purred even, and Mickey's feet moved before he had chance to form coherent thought. The guy pushed off the wall and stuffed his hand down his bra, fishing out a lighter from his 'boobs'. He caught Mickey staring at said chest bumps as he flicked the lighter and held it to the end of Mickey's cigarette, “They _are_ mine. This bra has a shit ton of padding in it and it's real tight too, just kinda pushes everything up. Not breasts, I'm just packing in the muscle department.”

Mickey glanced up and caught the flick of a red eyebrow, stepping back to draw on his cigarette, “That so, Bubblegum?”

“Hmm. Though, if you wanna see that, you'll need to call me Ian. He doesn't wear corsets to enhance himself, nor does he wear a jock strap to keep his dick under control,” Bubbles – _Ian_ – said coyly, not a blink of uncertainty, just pure flirtatious obviousness. Mickey was impressed by him, oh he was, and he felt his eyes betray him to look down at the frilly skirt in question. Ian cupped himself and giggled that high pitched one he'd done on stage, “Such a tight fit, Sir.”

“Holy fucking Jesus,” Mickey groaned, the batting eyelashes and lip bite fucking with his arousal. As if being light up like the fourth of July wasn't enough, Ian was turning him into the bonfire. “Mickey.”

“Are you into this drag thing then, Mickey? The girl imagery?” Ian asked carefully, taking the cigarette as Mickey absently offered it.

“Nah, just what's underneath all of this,” Mickey said honestly, darting his eyes up to see the sea green of Ian's swim with lust. “Don't get me wrong, Bubbles, this whole thing is fucking fantastic and has me reconsidering my take on queens. But in all seriousness? I don't fuck drag queens, I don't fuck girls and I don't really fuck boys.”

“Uh, what?” Ian blinked as Mickey moved in for the kill, pressing close enough for Ian to smell him, feel his presence.

“Boys fuck _me_.”

“Oh, really?” Ian breathed, shifting a little to press against the wall, looking down at Mickey as he stared at that pink mouth, “It's non-transferable, the lippy, won't smudge if you-”

Mickey dove in, throwing the cigarette to the floor as Ian straightened and spun them around, pinning Mickey with his body while moving his lips effortlessly with Mickey's desperate ones, matching him no matter what he did, whether he licked, bit, sucked or devoured, Ian was there with him all the way, moaning deep in his chest. Hands roamed Mickey's sides until they ended up cupping his jaw, turning his head to get better angles, tipping up his jaw so Ian could plant wet kisses along his throat and up to his earlobe, sucking it, groaning as Mickey fisted his red hair and pushed against him.

“You gonna do what you promised, Ian?” Mickey breathed, swallowing thickly as teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“Please excuse me, I don't mean to be rude,” Ian said breathlessly, nosing along Mickey's jaw until he could lock their eyes, “But tonight I'm fucking you.”

 

–

 

Mickey had never, in his life, been fucked as hard nor as thoroughly as he was being now; Ian had him bent over the end of his own bed, ass in the air while Ian knelt on the floor behind him, holding him down with a firm hand between his shoulders while the other palmed and roamed his sweating skin. Ian hadn't lied when it came to the jock strap either – Mickey was shocked it could even house such a large cock.

“Oh fu-ck,” Mickey grit out, hardly able to get any air in for the force of Ian's strikes drove any he got, straight back out again in grunts and moans and whines. Mickey spread his legs further, hooking up a knee onto the mattress, Ian pushing up on his knees, ghosting him, driving deep and hard.

“ _Jesus_ , you've got like-” Ian huffed, groping Mickey's ass with a moan, “The most perfect bubbled ass I've ever had the pleasure of destroying. I should, uh fuck, Jesus, call you _aaahhh_ Bubbles.”

“You dare!” Mickey howled as Ian pegged his prostate a few times in quick succession. His body was lit up with sensation, his skin crawling with so much pleasure he wanted to scratch and itch his palms and feet. “Fuck, yes, there! Ooohhh G-oh Ian, Ian, Ian.”

“Hmm. I think that's my new favourite sound,” Ian said, pulling out so quick that Mickey slipped down the bed and ended up dazed, kneeling on the floor, trying to breathe. “How do you feel about face-to-face fucking?”

“Usually?” Mickey gasped, “Nah. But uh,” he hauled himself up and lay back on the bed, pushing along until he was roughly in the middle, “You? You're kinda fuckin' gorgeous and _damn_ are you ruining me. I think, uh _Christ_ , I think I can make an exception for such a job well done. Fuck. Get back in me. I need this, need _you_ to blow my fuckin' mind you cotton candied, bubblegum boy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian laughed, crawling up to catch Mickey's plump lips in his, tonguing his way in while hooking up Mickey's thighs, holding them open with his shoulders as he pushed his way back in, breaking their kiss to drop his head and moan open mouth. Mickey whimpered at the feeling, that sound, and threw his head back as soon as Ian started up with his rough, relentless pounding, pawing Mickey's ass cheeks open as he caged his hips between thick thighs, lifting his ass up off the bed.

Ian's groaning, moaning, grunting praise had Mickey whining, swearing and biting at Ian's throat, grabbing everywhere he could, reaching around to grip and pull Ian's ass. “I'm close. Touch me, please?”

“Fuck. Mick, you're voice is gonna kill me,” Ian moaned, letting go of Mickey's ass to move back a little, snaking his hand between them to tug Mickey's forgotten and extremely hard cock, kissing the owner into a mess as he came with a choked swear, Ian whispering praises, _so good Mickey, you're so beautiful, so good for me_.

“You gonna come?” Mickey grunted, having no idea how the fuck Ian could still be going as he felt his own clenching ass pulling Ian in regardless of how he tried to pull back. Ian's answering cursing and heaving of breath told him all he needed to know, the redhead's thrusting coming to a hard stop, completely pressed inside Mickey and against him like he was trying to meld them together.

“Well,” Ian said after they'd cleaned up and were sharing a smoke on Mickey's tiny balcony – the landlord hated smokers – Mickey in a huge sweatshirt he'd bought from the thrift shop and Ian in a hockey jersey Mickey had dug out. Mickey turned to him and watched with utter wonder as Ian produced a stick of bright pink, cotton-candy flavoured gum, “Fancy blowing bubbles?”

“Oh my God,” Mickey laughed. Wiggling his eyebrows and biting his lip, Mickey dragged his eyes over Ian's bare legs, “Didn't need to produce gum for me to blow Bubbles.”

 


End file.
